


Unwanted

by randomcheeses



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Pregnancy, Short Chapters, Spoilers, do not read if you haven't finished the game, virginity is a damaging social construct, warning: sexual assault
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-01
Updated: 2015-09-03
Packaged: 2018-03-10 01:18:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 13,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3271415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/randomcheeses/pseuds/randomcheeses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Done for a prompt</p><p>After a disastrous run of luck, Lavellan's clan seeks to placate the Dread Wolf with a sacrifice</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“May I inquire as to how exactly your clan made the decision to ritually sacrifice you to a god they hate?”

 

“Well, first of all there was the fire.”

 

“Indeed?”

 

“Yes. Two of our hunters died in that. Then, there was the flood just as we were crossing the river.”

 

“I see.”

 

“We lost three halla and two of our aravels were wrecked. After that-”

 

“There is more?”

 

“Oh yes, lots.”

 

“Fenhedis . . .”

 

“Exactly. Now where was I?”

 

“Flood. Wrecked aravels.”

 

“Right. So after that, the whole clan got ill. Fever, vomiting, and the runs.”

 

“Unpleasant.”

 

“Very. It killed three of the elders. How are the ropes coming by the way?”

 

“I have nearly cut through them. Odd, they seem to have been reinforced with magic.”

 

“Part of the ritual, I think. Anyway, just as we were recovering from the sickness, we were attacked by human bandits. Deserters from the imperial army.”

 

“More casualties?”

 

“Yes. They took us by surprise. We managed to kill all of the bastards though. But . . .”

 

“But?”

 

“They only caught us by surprise because someone fell asleep on their watch.”

 

“Someone?”

 

“Me.”

 

“Ah.”

 

“Yeah. So Keeper Lanwen and the remaining elders figured that so much bad luck couldn’t be a coincidence. Keeper said that the clan had clearly drawn the attention of the Dread Wolf and that someone would have to, to-”

 

“Draw it away?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“And you were chosen? Just like that? Because you fell asleep while still recovering from a serious illness?”

 

“You needn’t sneer like that. There’s, well, there’s more to it. I wasn’t born to the clan. They took me in after I left the alienage. Everyone else in the clan is related, more or less. And they were all in mourning. No one wanted to lose more family.”

 

“Ah, of course. So it was perfectly reasonable of them to mark your body with these vallaslin and then leave you tied to a tree in the middle of the forest to die of starvation or exposure to the elements. Declaring you an adult just before they leave you to die. How civilised.”

 

“I never said it reasonable. Just that there was more to it. They were frightened and grieving. Frightened people do stupid things. What have you got against my vallaslin?”

 

“I dislike that particular pattern. I was also under the impression that the Dalish did not use it.”

 

“We keep it for special occasions, the Keeper said.”

 

“Ah, so it’s reserved for ritual murder. Lovely.”

 

“You’re very grumpy.”

 

“And you are surprisingly chipper for someone who’s been tied to tree for the last three days and would have died if I had not stumbled upon you by chance. Ah! There we go. You are free.”

 

“Thank- Agh!”

 

“I think perhaps you should not attempt standing just yet.”

 

“Owww . . .”


	2. Chapter 2

Kaella awoke slowly, blinking her eyes at the sunlight shining on her face. She groaned softly, and then sat up, dislodging a make-shift blanket of furs. The feeling of dizziness hit her immediately and she shuddered as a sudden chill ran through her, sweat prickling on her skin. Overwhelming nausea followed and Kaella doubled over, dry-heaving and retching until her sides ached.

 

“Be easy, da’len,” a soft lilting voice said from behind her as a pair of strong hands helped her sit back up. “Try to relax. You are safe.”

 

As she breathed a little easier, Kaella turned her head to look at the speaker. He was Elvhen, as she was and looked to be at least a decade her senior, perhaps two. Deep-set pale blue eyes looked out at her from under brows that carried a suggestion of ginger. Kaella wondered if he had been a redhead in his youth. Whatever colour it had been, his hair had now left his head entirely, possibly naturally, possibly by design. He had much broader shoulders than was typical of their race and she suspected that he was taller than average too. As he was currently sitting next to her his exact height was a little difficult to judge. Dressed in a simple off-white tunic, green leggings and foot wraps, he appeared entirely harmless. Even so, some instinct from the back of Kaella’s brain warned her to be wary.

 

“You,” she said, remembering “you cut me free. You-” She stopped, coughing harshly. Her companion slid an arm around her back, supporting her as the cough made her shake and jerk. With his other hand he offered her a drink from a wooden mug. 

 

Kaella swallowed a cough and sipped carefully from the mug the other elf was holding to her lips. Blessedly cool water with a hint of mint leaves wet her throat, taking away the painful raw feeling caused by the cough. Her earlier nausea and dizziness also receded and Kaella let out a sigh of relief. 

 

Feeling refreshed, Kaella lifted her head to look at the other elf again and found that he was watching her intently. 

 

“Feeling better?” he enquired.

 

She nodded and then wished she hadn’t. Her vision swam again and her head began to ache. She shivered, feeling suddenly cold. 

 

The other elf frowned in concern. “I shall take that as a ‘no’,” he said, laying her back down and pulling the furs up around her chin. “Try to get some rest da’len.”

 

“I am no child!” Kaella protested weakly, making another attempt to sit up and pointedly ignoring the part of her brain that wanted her to appreciate how comfortable and warm the furs were and how nice it would be to snuggle up under them. “I am twenty-six. And I am fine!”

 

“All right,” he agreed pleasantly. “Stay sitting with no help then.”

 

“No problem!”

 

Her proud declaration was somewhat spoiled when she slumped backwards seven seconds later. “Okay,” she muttered sullenly, as the stranger once again repositioned the make-shift blanket over her, “maybe I’m not fine. What did you say your name was again?”

 

The stranger’s lips quirked in a half smile. “I didn’t,” he replied. “You may call me Solas.”


	3. Chapter 3

The man currently calling himself Solas sighed and looked at the sleeping woman beside in concern. It was, he thought, a minor miracle that she still lived. If he had not chosen, on a whim, to take one path through the forest and not another, she would probably not have lasted to see another sunrise.

 

He suspected that she had not entirely recovered from the unpleasant illness she had described when her clan had put her through that farce of a ritual. Three days exposed to the elements had done her no favours either. She was nauseous, too weak to even sit up unaided and her face was deathly pale. Her newly acquired _vallaslin_ stood out in livid contrast.

 

Looking at the blood-red marks, Solas felt his stomach turn. He had hoped never to see that particular pattern again. They were a stark reminder of a time when he had not given a second though to the enslavement of other living beings. He winced at the recollection, remembering just how many lives had been thrown away for the greater glory of _Elvhenan_ and its ruling gods.

 

They had meant well. Once. The marks had been a choice for those who took pride in their service to the People. But power had twisted things, turning those who had been his friends, his family, into petty tyrants who amused themselves with the pain of innocents. Even he had succumbed, indulging in the sacrifices offered to him. Until the day that She was killed, the sudden, wrenching loss of Her shocking him back to himself.

 

He had gathered all the cunning and power that he possessed and used it to seal them away where they could do no more harm. Exhausted from the effort he had collapsed into _Uthenera_ , awaking to find himself still drained and without the means to unlock the power he’d placed within his orb. He had tried to find other Elvhen and found the descendants of those he’d given up so much to save. They had lost their immortality and their history. Clinging to their pride and half-remembered stories in which he was the villain, these ‘Dalish’ had swiftly driven him away.

 

Just when he’d given up, he had sensed it. A creature capable of unlocking the orb. He spoke in its dreams, showing it where to find the orb. Once the creature had it, it was merely a question of following from a discreet distance and waiting until the orb was used. The creature would die in the attempt and he could take back his power and fix his mistake.

 

He had _not_ been expecting to stumble across a living sacrifice to the Dread Wolf. He needed to be on his way, pursuing his quarry, but the ritual had been designed to please _him_. He could not just leave the young woman to die.

 

He looked at the _vallaslin_ again, reading more information coded into the subtle details of the pattern.

 

_Oh. A virgin for the fearsome Dread Wolf. How bloody thoughtful of them._

 


	4. Chapter 4

In the end it took three days for Kaella to recover enough to travel. Truthfully, by the time they’d left the camp she was once more feeling a little unsteady, but she’d be damned if she was going to let Solas know that.

 

The man was curiously over-protective considering they barely knew each other and Kaella did not want to start another argument about her health. She had spent the entire morning convincing him that, yes, she was well enough to walk and no, she did not need another day of rest. Kaella suspected that if she admitted now that she was still feeling slightly ill she would find herself wrapped in furs and fed nasty tasting medicines before Solas had even finished saying the words ‘I told you so’.

 

Kaella sighed inwardly, sneaking a look at the other elf as he shaded his eyes against the sunlight to get a better view of the path ahead of them. He really made no sense at all, she thought. A mage, not from the circle or the city alienages, but _definitely_ not Dalish.

 

No. Not Dalish. In the past few days Kaella had heard enough lectures from Solas on the folly of the Dalish clans and how they were Doing Everything Wrong to wonder if he’d only rescued her because he appreciated a captive audience. She grinned at the thought.

 

“Something amusing, da’len?”

 

Kaella started in surprise, her eyes flying up to meet Solas’. He was looking at her enquiringly, eyebrows raised and Kaella realised he’d noticed her grinning like an idiot, apparently at nothing in particular.

 

And there was _that_ word again. He persisted in using it.

 

She narrowed her eyes at him. “As I believe I have said before, Solas, I am twenty-six. Hardly a child.”

 

“Ir abelas,” he replied, not sounding apologetic at _all._ “How are you feeling?”

 

“The same as I felt the last half-dozen times you asked,” Kaella said, trying not to snap at him. “Fine.”

 

Solas held up his hands in a placating gesture. “No need to growl,” he said. “I am merely concerned for your health.” His lips quirked in a half-smile. “After all, one cannot be too careful at your advanced age.”

 

Kaella glared at him. “I take it back,” she declared sarcastically to the forest at large. “I am suffering dreadfully from a headache caused by certain people who are too impressed with their own cleverness. I fear it may be fatal unless I destroy the source.”

 

“Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit, Kaella. One would hope that someone of your clear maturity could do better.”

 

Kaella let out a soft groan. “Solas,” she said firmly, “the sooner we get to the edge of the forest and part ways, the better. I am eternally grateful for the help you have given me but I’m pretty sure that if I’m around you much longer I will strangle you.”

 

“Such flattery, da’len! I am touched, truly.”

 

_Yep,_ she thought, _definitely going to kill him._


	5. Chapter 5

She was not fine. He did not believe her protestations to the contrary. No matter how many times she assured him that she was well. She was too pale, tired too soon, and he was sure he had smelled vomit on her breath that morning. He hoped that he had not allowed her to travel too soon. A relapse of the illness she’d described would not be pleasant for any concerned.

Not for the first time Solas wished that he had more skill when it came to healing. It was an unfortunate gap in his knowledge of the magical arts. _A problem I will rectify as soon as I have the opportunity,_ he promised himself, glancing back at Kaella out of the corner of his eye. She was trudging along behind him and breathing heavily. He would have to insist that she rest soon. 

Inwardly, Solas growled. The whole situation was maddening! He had been a day behind Corypheus, perhaps two. Now, thanks to the Dalish and their superstitious idiocy the magister had nearly a week’s worth of a lead on him.

 _You chose to stop_ part of his mind pointed out. _You could have just untied her and left. No one asked you to nurse her back to health. And she’s on her feet now. You could take off and shorten Corypheus’ lead to a day and a half by nightfall._

For a moment, he considered it. But the image of Kaella’s too-pale face, with its blood red vallaslin lingered in his mind. Like it or not, those marks had bound her to him. She was his responsibility, at least temporarily. Still, at least she was an interesting little creature. Clever, quick with a blade, full of questions and unafraid to argue. He actually rather enjoyed her company.

Of course, she was not afraid because she did not _know._ No doubt if she knew the truth she would run screaming in the opposite direction.

Solas smiled bitterly to himself. The Dalish, especially this Keeper Lanwen Kaella had spoken of, had clearly not expected the Dread Wolf to actually appear and accept their sacrifice. They had turned on one who was somewhat an outsider to the clan and had scapegoated her for the unusual number of misfortunes they had suffered. They had expected Kaella to die and used _his_ name to excuse themselves of murder.

He could not leave her. Not until he was sure she was well.

Besides, he reasoned to himself, it was not as if he did not know where the creature was headed. The conclave the human Chantry had arranged with the rebel Circle mages was Corypheus’ most likely target. Attacking it would be the most intimidating sign that the magister intended to put the ancient Tevinter Imperium back on the map.

It would be easy enough to take care of the ‘gift’ the Dalish had given him for a few more days. He was still moving in the right direction after all, even if it was at a slower pace. Kaella would recover soon enough, and then they could set after Corypheus in earnest.

_No. I will be after him. Not we. I._

_I._


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From this point on there will be various references to sexual assault. Most of it will be implied, not explicit and there won't be much. Still, I will warn in the notes at the top of the chapter, so you guys can skim past if you need to.

Kaella was feeling sick. Again. Only this time it was anxiety, not illness that made her stomach twist and turn. The closer she and Solas came to the edge of the forest, the more anxious she felt.

What would she do once they had parted ways? she wondered. Just yesterday she had joked that she couldn’t wait to be away from him. But now, with the end of their journey in sight, she felt like clinging to him like a child.

She knew why, of course. She could not go back to her family in the Ostwick alienage. Not with a hanging for the crime of murder waiting for her.

She cursed shemlen mercenaries who would not take no for an answer.

She could not go back to the Dalish either. They had thrown her away. Deshanna, the previous Keeper, who had welcomed her into the clan, was dead of fever and her successor Lanwen . . . Well. Best not to think about Lanwen, Kaella reminded herself. 

She thought of him anyway.

Handsome Lanwen, who had smiled and flirted with her. Laughing Lanwen, who had taught her about the History of the Dalish and the Creators. Smiling Lanwen, who had told her she was beautiful, that he wanted her. 

Angry Lanwen, who had accused her of leading him on when she told him no, I don’t like this, it hurts, I’ve changed my mind, stop. Hateful Lanwen, his face contorted with rage, calling her awful names.

Keeper Lanwen, who had bound her and marked her face with Fen’Harel’s vallaslin. Keeper Lanwen who had convinced clan Lavellan that all their misfortune was her doing.

Keeper Lanwen, who had called upon the Dread Wolf to take her. 

He had left her there, face stinging in pain, limbs aching from her bonds, the cold eating away at her. Two days had passed. She had felt the sleep of death coming. And then she had seen the approaching figure. The silhouette of a tall elvhen carrying a mages’ staff. For a moment she had thought that it was indeed Fen’Harel coming to claim her. But it had only been Solas.

Kind Solas, who had cut her free. Gentle Solas, who had nursed her until she was almost well. Clever Solas, who talked and argued. Irritating Solas who lectured and called her a child. Respectful Solas, who listened to her opinions and gave her words consideration.

Solas, who would be gone one his way before the day was out.

Solas, who was saying that he could see the road. That they would be there in a few minutes.

Kaella swallowed a sob. She could not answer him. What would she do now? Where would she go? She turned her face away from him, squeezing her eyes shut, praying that she could keep from crying.

“Kaella?” he asked, puzzled.

“I’m fine,” she snapped automatically, even as her voice broke on the words.

Solas snorted and pulled her to face him. “So you keep saying. I doubt-” He stopped mid-sentence and she knew why. She had lost the fight with herself and tears were spilling down her face.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, horribly embarrassed. “I’m fine. Really. I’m sorry. I’m not crying. I’m not.”

“You are,” Solas said quietly. “But you have a right to.”

“I’m sorry,” Kaella whispered again, hanging her head in mortification. “I didn’t mean to.”

To her shock, Solas stepped close and carefully put his arms around her. “Don’t apologise lethallin,” he murmured as she wept into his tunic. “You, of all people, have nothing to be sorry for. With all that has happened to you, it is a wonder you went this long without crying.”

“I don’t know what to do. I don’t know where to go.” She was uncomfortably aware of the hysterical edge to her voice. “I’m getting your tunic all wet.”

His sudden chuckle surprised her so much that Kaella’s tears paused for a moment. “Don’t worry lethallin,” he said cheerfully. “My tunic is easily fixed. As for you,” he continued, sobering again, “I know you were looking forward to not having to put up with me anymore, but I think perhaps you should take some time to think about what you want to do before you leave. There is no need to rush into anything. Stay with me for now. I would be glad of your company.”

“I would like that,” she mumbled into his soaked tunic. “Ma serannas, Hahren.”


	7. Chapter 7

A week later, in the cramped and smelly hold of a ship headed to Ferelden, Kaella found herself heartily regretting her choice to travel with her rescuer. Solas had insisted on travelling to the upcoming Conclave the Chantry was holding and, while Kaella agreed with him that the outcome of the Conclave concerned all the races of Thedas, she had discovered that the only method of travelling to Ferelden from the Free Marches did not suit her at all.

In addition to the fact that she was still feeling the after effects of the sickness which had ravaged clan Lavellan, acute seasickness had struck Kaella minutes after boarding the ship, leaving her to spend the entire trip either on deck and leaning over the hand rail or below decks and curled up miserably next to a smelly wooden bucket.

Rubbing salt into her wounds was the fact that Solas appeared to be completely unaffected by the disconcerting motion of sea travel. He seemed perfectly content to spend their time at sea asleep in the hold, seemingly heedless of the smell of brine, vomit, sweat and other bodily odours.

_Lucky bastard,_ Kaella thought enviously as she watched Solas sleep, a few nights after the ship had set sail. He was curled up on his bedroll, which he had stretched across some crates of cargo, occasionally murmuring in his sleep. She wondered vaguely whether he was seeing anything interesting in the Fade.

Kaella’s pondering of the mage was unceremoniously interrupted as the ship crested a particularly big wave. Her stomach lurched and Kaella scrabbled desperately for her bucket, grabbing a hold of it just in time to avoid coughing her half-digested dinner all over the hold. That done, she let out a heartfelt groan, closed her eyes and collapsed back onto the cargo sacks she’d been using as makeshift bedroll.

She awoke an hour later to the now familiar sight of Solas’ face looking at her in concern. “Not sleeping well?” he asked sympathetically as he helped her to sit up.

“I found myself thinking fondly of that tree I was tied to,” she replied sourly. “How long more is this Maker-damned voyage going to take?”

“Another week, perhaps less if the winds are kind.”

She groaned. “I’ll never make it.”

“You’ll be f-”

“No!” she interrupted him, voice hoarse with frustration. “I’m tired, I’m weak, I feel sick all the time, I can’t keep _anything_ down, I can’t even _sleep_ on this stupid boat and now godsdamnit, I’m crying _again_ ,” she yelled, scrubbing at the sudden hot tears with her sleeve. “What is wrong with me?!”

“Da’len,” Solas began, attempting to soothe her, “You-”

Kaella cut him off mid-sentence; eyes narrow in anger, almost snarling her words. “Solas, for the last time I am not a child!”

There was a moment of silence. Then Solas’ eyes widened and he stared at Kaella, his mouth falling open. “Da’len,” he breathed in shock.

Just as Kaella opened her mouth to yell, he put a finger to her lips and she froze in surprise. Before she could shake herself out of it, Solas splayed his other hand across her belly. Hairs rose on her skin and she felt the tell-tale tingling of the magic flowing from his hand. Heat curled in Kaella’s belly and she found it suddenly very hard to breathe. Somehow the world had narrowed to the weight of his hand against her and the long finger still touching her lips.

Abruptly, Solas withdrew his hands. Caught off guard by the loss of contact, Kaella almost fell forward, as if he had taken all the energy in her body with him. “Well,” he said cryptically, “that explains much. I apologise, lethallin. I did not think to look for that.” He snorted, half to himself. “More fool I, for expecting the Dalish to be accurate for once.”

“What? What explains what?!” she demanded.

“Da’len,” he repeated. “Not you,” he said quickly before she could get angry. He reached out and gently touched her belly again. “Here, lethallin,” he said, his voice soft. “ _Da’len._ ”


	8. Chapter 8

_“No. No, no, no,” she whispered. “I can’t be. You’re wrong. No. You must be wrong. Please, say you’re wrong. Please!”_

_He shook his head. “I’m sorry lethallin. There is no doubt.”_

_“No!” This time it was a scream, not a whisper. “No! I can’t be!”_

_He reached out, intending to comfort her, hoping to quieten her before someone came to investigate the noise. The last thing he needed now was some fool shemlen sticking their nose in._

_Her balled fist caught him completely by surprise, the force of the blow knocking him on his back. He looked up and found her glaring down at him, but there was fear behind the rage in her eyes. “Don’t you touch me!” she snarled at him. “Don’t ever-”_

_The ship swayed as another large wave hit and she lost her balance, landing on top of him. His first instinct was to push her off, his second to put his arms around her. He ignored both and stayed still until he felt the tension drain out of her. She collapsed against him and wept._

 

_***_

 

That had been five days ago and Solas was now very worried. Kaella had not spoken since and he feared that her mind had been damaged. She dressed herself, she ate and drank whatever was put in front of her, but she did not speak. She did as she was told, but gave no sign of independent thought. When he looked into her eyes, they were dull and unfocused. She had not even reacted when they left the ship.

Desperate to fill the silence as they headed towards the Conclave he had talked of everything and anything that came to mind; the wonders of the fade, the different types of spirits and demons, the beauty of Arlathan, the political system of the old durgen’len empire, even his favourite poetry.

Hoping for any kind of reaction he even spoke to her completely in Elvhen, telling her who he was, how he had made such costly mistakes, how the Dalish had gotten him so wrong. How once he got the orb back from Corypheus, he could fix everything, make everything right.

“I will take care of you, lethallin,” he promised her. “Once _Elvhenan_ is restored and the People have their proper place, I will take you to _Tara’sylan Te’las_ and you will have whatever you wish. No one will dare harm you ever again. I will find the fools who hurt you in my name and you may have the pleasure of pronouncing judgement on them yourself.”

She made no response, no sign that she even heard him.

He sighed and fell silent.

Inwardly, Solas cursed himself for his foolishness. If he had only thought for a moment and not blurted things out in such a way! She had been _sacrificed_ after all. That left only a small number of unpleasant possibilities when one considered the matter of the . . . father. She was only a few weeks along, so the man had to be a member of her clan. Which meant that he was either dead of fire, flood or sickness, or that he still lived and had betrayed Kaella by letting her be sacrificed.

The last possibility, and Solas’ jaw clenched as he thought about it, was that the _vallaslin_ on her face was technically correct. She had not had _sex_ and could therefore still be considered a virgin.

If that was so, then as soon as he had his orb he was going to find Clan Lavellan and kill someone. Slowly.


	9. Chapter 9

_Da’len,_ he had said gently, and her world had shattered. She had screamed and cried and begged him to tell her he was wrong.

But he was not.

She could feel the truth of it. Her tiredness, her weakness, the constant ill-feeling, all made sense now. She was expecting. There would be a child. Lanwen’s child. Lanwen, whom she hated with every fibre of her being. Lanwen, whom she wanted to kill.

She didn’t want it. She did want it. No. She didn’t. No. She did. Didn’t. Did.

She couldn’t settle herself, couldn’t organise her thoughts. The reality of a _da’len_ in her body paralysed her mind. She performed only simple tasks that did not require her to think. She slept. She woke. She dressed, she drank, she ate.

She listened to Solas talk, both in common and in Elvhen. He spoke Elvhen better than anyone she’d ever met. He was not a Dalish Keeper with scattered words and phrases. Her strange rescuer used Elvhen as proper language.

If she had been her normal self, she would have been fascinated.

But she was not her normal self. She didn’t know if she ever would be again.

 

***

It was a bandit attack that finally jarred her thoughts free of the circle they’d fused into. Dirty shemlen men, springing suddenly from nowhere to attack.

At first she watched with dull eyes as Solas summoned fire and lightning against the bandits, her thoughts still sluggish and slow, unable to place importance on anything but _da’len._

A blue flash in the air and Solas’ shocked cry of pain caught her by surprise. She stared at one of the bandits, a warrior with a dreadfully familiar design on his shield and a new and terrible thought smacked into her mind, finally letting her focus on something besides _da’len._

_Templar_

_Templars take mages away._

_Solas is a mage._

_The Templar will take him away._

_I’ll be alone. Alone with Lanwen’s da’len._

She did not remember drawing her daggers, but there they were, in her hands. She shrieked, a blood-curdling cry that gave the bandits pause. They had not reckoned on the dull eyed woman being a threat.

A moment later one of Kaella’s daggers found its way to the Templar’s eye. He dropped like a stone. His fellows, now focusing on Kaella as the greatest danger, neglected to remember that once a Templar was gone, a powerful enough mage could recover from the effects of Templar abilities with surprising speed.

There was a thunderclap so loud that both Kaella and the attackers winced in pain. Then lightning rained from the sky, striking the bandits like the wrath of the gods. The few survivors of Solas’ counter attack fled, lightning nipping at their heels.

“Lethallin?” Solas asked in concern, once the surviving bandits were well out of sight. “Lethallin, are you well?”

Kaella took a breath. “No,” she admitted, her voice hoarse from disuse. “I will be. I think. But I’m not okay right now.”

The older elf considered her words for a moment, then nodded. “Come,” he said carefully, “it is late and we must find shelter for the night. Tomorrow we reach Haven and the conclave.”


	10. Chapter 10

 

Haven was a village sparking with tension. The very air seemed thick with it. Templars and mages had gathered in camps on either side of the settlement and a small but steady trickle of people made their way from both to the Temple of the Sacred Ashes.

 

The reconstructed Temple loomed over Haven from the mountain top, its towers and spires casting long flickering shadows over the small mountain village. On the tallest spire, a banner bearing the insignia of the Chantry flapped in the wind.

 

Solas and Kaella made their way into Haven through the mage camp, Solas’ staff granting them relatively easy passage as Haven’s Circle representatives mistook him for a colleague who was late to the party. Kaella kept the hood of her cloak up to hide her tattooed face and followed deferentially behind the apostate, in what she hoped was the manner of a paid bodyguard.

 

“We should head to the tavern,” Solas said as they left the edge of the mage camp and walked through Haven’s small snow-covered alleyways. He indicated a wooden building a short distance away. A crudely carved sign in the shape of an ale mug swung in the breeze. “If any public information about the state of the Conclave is to be had, I suspect we will find it there.”

 

Kaella wrinkled her nose in distaste. “You’re probably right,” she agreed reluctantly. “Back in Ostwick it was amazing how fast the Duke’s latest scandal ended up as drunken gossip in the tavern where I worked.”

 

Solas blinked, momentarily surprised. “You worked in a tavern?”

 

She smiled dryly at his surprise. “I told you when we met that I wasn’t always Dalish, remember? That’s why I was the one who . . .” she trailed off, cleared her throat and continued, “anyway, yes, I was a serving maid.”

 

Solas cocked his head, regarding her curiously as they walked toward the tavern. “And how did a serving maid from Ostwick end up in a Dalish clan?”

 

Kaella’s shoulders stiffened almost imperceptibly. “Had to leave the alienage suddenly,” she said in a flat voice, her tone indicating that he should curtail his questions.

 

Solas took the hint and let the subject drop as he pushed the tavern door open. Several patrons glanced up from their drinks as the two elves entered. A few eyed Solas suspiciously for a moment and a twitchy looking soldier in one corner glared openly at him.

 

“Templar,” Kaella murmured quietly in Solas’ ear, discreetly gesturing at the woman’s shield which bore a relief of the Sword of Mercy. He nodded in acknowledgement, then pointed her towards a seat and went to get drinks.

 

Two hours and two mediocre beers later Kaella wanted to beat her head against the wall in frustration. Solas’ plan to gather information has hit an unexpected snag. There were no conversations to be overheard. No one in the tavern seemed to want to talk to each other.

 

“This isn’t working,” she muttered to Solas. “Maybe we should head up to the Temple? See what we can find out there?”

 

“No,” he said immediately. “Too dangerous. The place will be crawling with Templars and mages and all of them will be on edge.”

 

“I could go,” Kaella insisted. “Templar abilities won’t work on me and even the twitchiest mage won’t mistake a Dalish elf for a Templar.”

 

“ _Absolutely_ not,” Solas said firmly. “You are not wandering around on your own in a temple full of nervous shemlen. I forbid it.”

 

Kaella inhaled sharply at his authoritative words. “Solas, I am . . .” she paused, swallowed and then said resolutely “I am pregnant, not injured or dying. And I am a Dalish hunter. It is not your place to forbid me anything. Being with child does not rob me of all my skills. Or of my ability to make decisions for myself.”

 

“That has not been my experience,” Solas pointed out, his tone still that of the stern Hahren.

 

Kaella glared at him, annoyed at how much his words stung. There was some truth in them, she knew. She had not exactly been at her most rational these last few weeks. Still, Solas was not in the right.

 

“Your experience of me is a two weeks company directly after the worst days of my life,” she snapped, holding his gaze with an angry glare. “I am normally extremely capable, I assure you.”

 

“Alright,” Solas agreed finally. He slumped back in his seat and Kaella suddenly wondered how tired _he_ was from taking care of her for the last few days. “But Kaella, promise me you’ll run at the first sign of trouble.”

 

“I promise.” She smiled and patted his arm. “Don’t worry,” she said, “I’ll be back before you know it.”


	11. Chapter 11

 

“This way, hurry!” the shemlen warrior shouted over the sounds of battle. She point over the brow of a ridge. “They are over here!”

 

Kaella nodded in response and followed the woman - Cassandra, she had called herself – towards a small green tear in the sky. The sound of an explosion above her made her glance up. Overhead, a much larger tear, which the shemlen had called the Breach, crackled and boomed. Clouds swirled around its edges in a permanent storm. The centre was a mass of sickly green light that shifted and flicked. The effect was at once both hypnotic and mildly nauseating.

 

Kaella dragged her gaze away with difficulty and sternly reminded herself to focus on the task at hand. With demons falling out of the sky at regular intervals she would easily find herself dead if she didn’t pay attention. The crackle and sizzle of magic could be heard up ahead and she was not surprised to see purple lightning arc from the sky to hit someone – or something - just out of her sight.

 

Cresting the brow of the hill, Kaella took in the scene before her and let out a gasp of mingled surprise and relief. The small rift hung in mid-air, crackling and hissing as shades and lesser demons slithered out of it. Chantry soldiers battled the misshapen creatures, assisted by a durgen’len with a peculiar looking crossbow and a tall Elvhen mage whose bald head shone in the flickering green light. There was no mistaking him. It was Solas.

 

Kaella quickly waded into the battle, Cassandra at her side. Between the two women, the chantry soldiers, the mage and the dwarven archer, the demons were slowly dispatched. The rift pulsed more and more slowly until finally it just hung in the air like an ugly green scar.

 

Kaella sagged in exhaustion and turned to Solas. “Quickly!” he cried, grabbing her left hand and holding toward the tear in the sky before she could even voice a protest. “Before more come through!”

 

The most peculiar feeling tingled through Kaella’s palm and a beam of green light shot from it, striking the centre of the rift. A few seconds later the rift closed with an abrupt _crack_ and Solas let go of her wrist. Kaella winced as a sudden ache ran up her arm and let it drop to her side

 

“Solas!” she said, throwing her other arm around him in an awkward hug. “I am _so_ glad to see you. What in the void just happened?”

 

For a moment there was silence, broken only by the hiss of an indrawn breath from behind her. Then Solas returned her embrace. His arms curled around her, one of his hands coming up to cradle her head against his chest. Surprised, she tried to pull back and found that she couldn’t. Solas held her in a firm grip and seemed very disinclined to let go.

 

“You know the prisoner,” she heard the Seeker say slowly, accusingly, her words spat between gritted teeth. “So you are involved in this too, apostate! I told Leliana your presence was too convenient!”

 

Kaella swallowed nervously, her mouth suddenly dry. She had just seen the Seeker’s skill in battle and the last thing she wanted was Cassandra turning that frankly impressive skill against her or Solas.

 

“Seeker,” she croaked, nausea welling up her throat. “I can exp-”

 

“As I said before, Seeker,” Solas replied, interrupting Kaella as casually as if they were all having a friendly debate over dinner, “I came to hear the results of the Conclave. Its outcome would have affected all the peoples of Thedas, not just humans. Kaella accompanied me. No one in Haven wanted to talk to an apostate, so Kaella went to the Temple to see if she could gather more information.” He paused for a moment and Kaella felt his arms tighten around her, “I thought she had died in the explosion. It was as much a surprise to me as it was to you when your people found her falling out of the Fade.”

 

“Why did you not tell us you knew her?” Cassandra snapped.

 

Solas raised an eyebrow. “I would not be of much help to you from the inside of your cells Seeker, now would I?”

 

“So, what?” Cassandra hissed, “both of you are just innocent bystanders? Do you really expect me to believe that?”

 

“Right now,” Kaella croaked, trying to struggle free of Solas’ imprisoning hold, “I don’t care what anyone believes. Solas, let go of me. I’m going to be sick.”

 

“What is wrong with her?” Kaella heard Cassandra ask, as she knelt in the snow and retched. There were equal parts suspicion and concern in the Seeker’s voice.

 

“Morning sickness,” Solas said flatly.

 

“What?!”

 

“Morning sickness,” Solas repeated slowly, as if the Seeker was hard of hearing. “It is an affliction that occurs in the first months of pregnancy-”

 

“I know what it is!” Cassandra snapped. “Why did you not tell us of this before?”

 

“It was not relevant.”

 

_Also none of your damned business,_ Kaella added mentally as she finished coughing up her last meal. A large hand appeared in her vision holding a water bottle and a handkerchief. She looked up. The durgen’len archer gave her a friendly smile. “Thanks,” she whispered, taking the proffered items.

 

“Not _relevant?_ ” For a moment it seemed as though Cassandra was going to explode. Then she exhaled, the colour draining from her face. Her gaze slid from Solas’ face to Kaella’s and back again. “Alright,” she said firmly. “You told me you thought the mark could seal the Breach?” Solas nodded. “Then you will both accompany us to the Temple of Sacred Ashes and help me fix this. No tricks. Is that clear?”

 

“Of course, Seeker. Lead the way.”

 

“Well,” the durgen’len added as they made their way towards the Temple, “Bianca’s excited.”


	12. Chapter 12

The ruin of the Temple of Sacred Ashes was one of the worst things Kaella had ever seen. Sickly green cracks and flashes of light filled the air while veins of red lyrium burst from the ground. The great splinters of red rock glittered and throbbed unpleasantly, almost like something living.

 

Kaella led the group across the temple to the large rift cracking and spitting at the centre. There, she and the others listened to the fade echoes of a deep male voice talk of sacrifices while an old woman’s voice that Seeker Pentaghast identified as the Divine called for help and Kaella went pale with shock as she heard her own voice answer. What had happened here? Why couldn’t she remember?

 

She jerked in surprise when a warm hand covered hers, only to look up and find Solas looking at her sympathetically. “Do not be afraid, lethallin,” he said. “We will find out what happened. But for now, we must concentrate on closing the Breach.”

 

“Do you think it can be done from here?” the Seeker asked doubtfully.

 

Solas thought a moment and then shook his head. “No. But I believe if this smaller rift” – he gestured to one hanging in the air in the middle of the temple- “can be closed then the Breach may stabilise and cease growing. For the moment. But first this one must be reopened, so that it can be sealed properly.”

 

Seeker Pentaghast nodded decisively, then raised her voice. “That means demons!” she called to the soldiers accompanying the red-headed chantry sister that the Seeker had addressed as Leliana. “Stand ready!” Then she turned to Kaella. “Once the rift is open, stay back until it is weakened enough that you can use the Mark to close it. Do not risk yourself fighting the demons.”

 

“But-” Kaella started to protest, only to be cut off by Solas putting a finger to her lips.

 

“Do not argue now, lethallin,” he said as she blushed in embarrassment at such treatment. “The Seeker is correct. Your mark is the only means of closing the Breach. You must not risk yourself. And you must also think of the safety of the little one.”

 

To Kaella’s further embarrassment, Solas punctuated his sentence by resting a hand on her belly as if he had every right to do so. She was uncomfortably aware of the gazes of both the Seeker and the durgen’len Tethras and her face now felt hot enough to fry eggs on. She could practically feel them both making assumptions about her, Solas and her pregnancy. What did Solas think he was _doing_?

 

Before she could voice the thought that maybe Solas could try keeping his hands to himself, the Seeker gestured to her to move towards the rift, so Kaella bit back the words, stepped back and made a show of shoving up her sleeves. She squared her shoulders. “Right,” she said firmly. “Let’s get this done.”

 

***

Kaella awoke to a frightened maid servant and a village full of shemlen soldiers and refugees now convinced that she was a holy messenger of their prophet.

 

“I’m so sorry, m’lady Herald,” the servant girl stammered, trying to gather the healing supplies she had dropped on the floor in surprise when Kaella awoke. “I didn’t mean to disturb you, I swear. I was just bringing some extra elfroot and crystal grace. M’lady Herald’s lord husband said you might need it for a potion to help with the morning sickness.”

 

Kaella blinked, her ears not quite believing what she’d just heard. “My _who?_ ” she said blankly.

 

“M’lord Solas,” the girl clarified. “He was here with you until recently. Said he needed a moment to get some air. And m’lady Cassandra, she said she wanted to see you in the Chantry as soon as you woke.”

 

“Oh. Yes, of course. Solas,” Kaella said slowly. She coughed. “Pardon me. Not used to hearing him being called a lord.”

 

“Of course, m’lady Herald,” the maid said. She gulped nervously. “May- may I be excused m’lady?”

 

Kaella nodded carefully at the girl and watched her go. Her mind was afire with questions. She and Solas needed to have a private conversation very, very soon. _What_ was her companion up to? Had she made a mistake in trusting him?

 

It was a problem for later, she decided, as she stepped out the door onto the streets of Haven. Right now she needed to head to the village chantry. Seeker Pentaghast did not strike her as a patient woman.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: there is some reference to sexual assault in this chapter.

The talk with the Seeker and her friends did not go as badly as Kaella had feared. The angry Chancellor Roderick still wanted Kaella imprisoned, but Seeker Pentaghast was a woman of iron faith and the events at the Temple had apparently convinced her that Kaella could be trusted for now.

 

(Kaella had a nasty feeling that the Seeker really did believe the ‘Herald of Andraste’ nonsense the shemlen in Haven were spouting.)

 

Once the chancellor had been ejected from the room, Kaella had been introduced to Commander Cullen Rutherford, the leader of the newly formed Inquisition’s military, who seemed alright, for a former Templar. In any case, he looked her in the eye when he spoke to her and did not use the words ‘knife ear’. She decided to give him the benefit of the doubt for now.

 

The red-headed chantry sister Leliana had been identified as _the_ Leliana, Veteran of the Fifth Blight, not to mention Sister Nightingale the Divine’s Left Hand and spymaster of Inquisition.

 

The last to be introduced was Ambassador Josephine Montilyet of Antiva. She was a beautiful woman, with brown skin and glossy black hair, who greeted Kaella formally in _elvhen_. Noble ladies had never been Kaella’s favourite people but she found herself warming to the ambassador despite herself.

 

One brief head-whirling discussion later, Kaella found herself officially an agent of the Inquisition, due to head to the Hinterlands to speak with a Chantry Mother whom Leliana thought might be of help.

 

She agreed to set off as soon as possible and then excused herself from the meeting, citing the need to talk to Solas. From the expressions on the other’s faces, she guessed that they were all also under the same impression as the servant who’d been there when she awoke, that Solas was her husband and the father of her child. For a moment Kaella considered correcting their assumption, then decided against it, at least until after she had talked to Solas.

 

Kaella found her supposed husband standing in the snow outside the apothecary’s hut, apparently unconcerned with the cold or the wind that blew the flaps of his long tunic back and forth. He smiled when he saw her approach. She glared back and the smile drained from his face.

 

“Solas,” she said icily, “a word in private, if you please?”

 

“Of course,” he said calmly, slipping a confident arm around her shoulders and leading her towards the door next to the apothecary. “How are you feeling, my dearest?”

 

“Fine,” Kaella snapped, quickly stepping out of his hold the second the door closed behind them. She looked around the hut’s little room. It was by no means luxurious, but still furnished much better than she would’ve expected for a house given by humans for an elf to use. Any less might be construed as an insult to the husband of Andraste’s Herald, she supposed. But anything more, well, not everyone believed in her Heraldness and Solas _was_ an apostate as well as an elf.

 

It was on the heels of that thought that Kaella turned to face Solas, still glaring at him with all the force of a blizzard. “I want to talk and _not_ be overheard,” she said emphatically. “Can you arrange that?”

 

“Easily,” Solas replied. He gave a careless wave with his left hand, light flickering at his fingertips and then trailing across the room to the corners of the ceiling. After a moment he lowered his hand. “None will overhear us now, not even Sister Nightingale’s talented people. What did you wish to discuss?”

 

Kaella narrowed her eyes at him. “What do you think, _my dearest?_ ”

 

Solas sighed. “I owe you an explanation, I know. Please, sit,” he said, gesturing at a bench.

 

“It had better be a good one,” Kaella said, taking the offered seat and then moving over so that Solas could sit next to her. “Or else I’ll be a grieving widow in a minute.”

 

Solas leaned forward, resting his elbows on the front of his thighs and clasped his hands in front of him. Finally, he tilted his head towards her, considering her carefully. “This was not my intention at the start, but I thought it best after the Seeker saw the way you greeted me at the first rift. This may be difficult to believe, but I encouraged the humans in their assumptions in order to protect you.”

 

“Protect me?” Kaella said disbelievingly, “how, precisely does letting the humans think we are married protect me?” She eyed him suspiciously. “I see that it gives you considerable influence over the shemlen. You’d better watch out, my _lord husband_. They’re comparing me to Andraste. If you’re not careful you might find yourself cast as Maferath.”

 

“Believe me,” Solas said, “I would much prefer to be only the simple, helpful apostate.”

 

“So tell the truth!”

 

Solas looked at her, pity in his eyes. “If only it were that easy. Lethallin, please think carefully. Half the humans think you are an agent of divine will, but to the other half you are, if you will forgive my repeating these words ‘a jumped-up knife-ear’ and probably responsible for the Divine’s death. They are looking for any excuse to prove that you are the criminal they think you are.”

 

Kaella’s stomach sank into the ground. Solas had a point, she realised. Any detractor, and there were bound to be more than a few, had only to point out that she was unmarried and pregnant as evidence that she was nothing more than a common whore. She had seen such behaviour in the alienage back in Ostwick. And if she tried to explain that it wasn’t by choice and why, no doubt she would be accused of provoking Lanwen in some way.

 

She knew that there were already a lot of humans in Haven who didn’t want to believe that the Maker’s Bride would choose an elf as her Herald. They would seize on such an easy excuse like vultures on a fresh corpse. Could she trust in Cassandra and Leliana to protect her? Or would they throw her back in prison, only bringing her out when there was a rift around to close?

 

Solas was watching her expression carefully. “If you like,” he said gently, “we can imply that our marriage was one of convenience and thus we are not yet completely comfortable with one another. But we cannot tell the truth.”

 

“But,” Kaella protested, one last objection occurring to her, “what if someone in my clan hears of it? They’ll know it’s a lie. That I wasn’t married before they, you know, left me. What if, if Lanwen hears that I’m pregnant? He’ll know that it’s . . .” she trailed off, too ashamed to continue.

 

Solas blinked. “Lanwen? That was your Keeper , yes? He is the father?”

 

Kaella nodded shakily. “Yes. He- We were friends. Before all the disasters.”

 

“And he let you be- No,” Solas corrected himself, an edge in his voice, “ _he_ sacrificed you?” He indicated her blood red _vallaslin_ with a sharp gesture. “He did this?”

 

Kaella stared at her feet, red with humiliation and self-disgust. “He said it was my fault,” she said in small voice. “That the Creators were angry and punishing the clan because I didn’t respect him.”

 

“You didn’t want him,” Solas guessed quietly. “And he didn’t listen.”

 

“No. I did want him. At first. But he was . . . angry when I wanted to stop,” Kaella whispered. She closed her eyes, wanting the ground to swallow her up where she sat. She didn’t dare look at Solas. What must he think of her now?

 

She heard an angry intake of breath and curled herself into a ball, awaiting his scorn.

 

But instead of the expected derisiveness, she heard him say gently “It was not your fault, Lethallin. If you believe nothing else I say, believe that. It was not your fault. No one ever has the right to make you continue something once you want to stop. It was _not_ your fault. And if he ever dares speak of you to anyone, Lanwen will regret it. I promise you.”

 

Kaella burst into tears.


	14. Chapter 14

The meeting with Mother Giselle was not the complete disaster that Kaella had thought it would, but she felt sure that the meeting in Val Royeaux with the Chantry Leadership that the Revered Mother had proposed most definitely would be.

 

“Just, just go up the leaders of the Chantry and say ‘hello! I’m not a heretic!’” Kaella muttered under her breath as she lay back on her bedroll that night in camp and tried to get some sleep. “Yes. Fine. Sure. _No_ problem. They’ll welcome me with open arms, I’m sure.”

 

Kaella snorted. Much more likely, they would try to have her dragged off and imprisoned. Well, at least Chancellor Roderick would be happy, she supposed.

 

A snore from beside her made her glance over at her tent-mate. Solas was flat on his back and fast asleep, his eyelids flickering as he dreamt of who-knew-what.

 

“Bastard,” Kaella muttered enviously. She fervently wished that she had Solas’ ability to sleep absolutely anywhere and in any position. But the truth was, that despite spending a considerable amount of time amongst the Dalish, her City Elf bred body had never really adjusted to sleeping anywhere but a proper bed. She shifted uncomfortably for another half an hour before finally drifting into a restless sleep.

 

Her dreams were fragmented, frightening images and sensations that were fuzzy and out of focus. A city in sickly black and green shades flickered in front her, only to be replaced by Lanwen’s face. She heard a baby wail in the distance and Lanwen smiled at her, but his eyes were empty and sticky black fluid began to drip from the corners.

 

Kaella backed away as the world blurred around her and Lanwen vanished only for her to find a massive black wolf with six red eyes had taken his place. It snarled at her, it’s jaws as wide as she was tall. She shrieked and tried to run, but her legs refused to move. She stood there, frozen, as the huge maw of the wolf came closer and closer. It was going to swallow her whole.

 

She snapped awake, breathing fast, her arms flailing in a panic, and then gave a cry of pain as one fist collided with something relatively solid. This was followed by a second cry, more surprised than anything, from Solas.

 

Her flailing fist had hit him in the nose.

 

“Oh. Oh crap,” Kaella babbled, now fully awake. “Solas, are you okay? I’m so sorry! I was dreaming and it was really freaky and I couldn’t move and Fen’harel was going to eat me! Are you all right?”

 

“Quite all right, Lethallin,” Solas assured her indistinctly. He sat up, clutching at his bruised nose. His hand glowed for a moment and then the bruise faded. Solas sniffed experimentally. “No permanent harm done,” he said with a smile. Then he cocked an eyebrow at her. “Fen’harel was going to eat you? Really?”

 

“Well, not _really,_ obviously,” Kaella said huffily, disliking the little smirk the elder elf was directing towards her. “It was just a dream, but it _was_ really creepy. Huge black wolf, mouth bigger than me. Anyone would’ve been freaked out!” she finished defensively. Solas was no longer even trying to contain his amusement.

 

“Kaella,” he said, “whatever the Dalish may have told you, I can inform you with absolute certainty that Fen’harel does not eat people. He certainly would not try to eat you.”

 

“If you say so,” Kaella said, unconvinced. The massive jaws were still lingering in her mind.

 

“He’d wait until you’ve fattened up a bit,” Solas added innocently. “At the moment you’re far too lean and stringy.”

 

Her pillow hit him square in the face.

 

“No need for that,” he said in mock hurt.

 

“Yes there absolutely was,” she said scowling back at him as she retrieved her pillow. “Lean and stringy indeed!”

 

Upon those words her gaze slid to her midsection. There was no obvious bump as yet, but she was definitely gaining a bit of weight around the belly. Her clothes had been let out by a seamstress provided by Leliana and her armour had had to be adjusted twice, by a grumbling master Harritt.

 

Harritt had constantly muttered under his breath about the foolishness of sending a pregnant woman into battle and had only shut up when Kaella had finally lost patience and snapped that if he didn’t like it he was welcome to find some other person with a magical glowing hand that could seal rifts in the Veil. After that, there had been no more muttered complaints.

 

“I am sorry,” Solas said, interrupting her introspection. “I did not mean to distress you.”

 

Kaella sighed. “You didn’t. Not really. And it’s pointless for me to pretend that _this,_ ” she paused and ran a hand over her belly, “isn’t happening, because it is. I mean, the Dread Wolf thing bothers me more. We’ve been so busy with sealing rifts and helping the refugees and all this Inquisition stuff that I forgot about, you know, my face.”

 

“Ah,” Solas said. “This is about Mihris.”

 

“She tried to _kill_ me, Solas. The first other Dalish elf I’ve seen in weeks and she took one look at my face and tried to set me on fire. There are scorch marks on my boots. If Cassandra hadn’t been quick with a Smite I don’t want to think what might have happened.”

 

“I must admit, I was not expecting _quite_ so hostile a reaction to your _vallaslin.”_

 

Kaella sighed. “Me neither. I mean, I knew it wouldn’t be good. But I thought, I don’t know, that I’d be spat at or ignored. It never occurred to me that Lanwen wrote ‘kill her’ on my face.”

 

“But he did not,” Solas corrected her. “These vallaslin mark you as an offering and,” he paused awkwardly for a moment, a peculiar expression crossing his face, and then continued “servant of Fen’harel. They do not call for your death.”

 

“Solas,” she said slowly, trying to get him to see the point, “the Dalish don’t _like_ Fen’harel. Marking me as a servant of the Great Betrayer _is_ calling for my death.”

 

“Foolish superstition,” Solas said in disgust.

 

“Maybe,” Kaella replied diplomatically. “But it almost got me killed and more or less guarantees that no clans will co-operate with the Inquisition.”

 

“You think so?”

 

She snorted. “You heard what Mihris called me. No clan will deal with a _harellan._ Or with an organisation of humans that welcomes one.” Suddenly, Kaella felt very tired. “I can’t go back to the Dalish because they’ll kill me. I can’t go back to Ostwick because I’ll be executed for murder-”

 

“Murder?” Solas interrupted, sounding somewhat taken aback.

 

“Shem mercenary in the tavern wouldn’t keep his hands to himself,” she said shortly. “I pushed him back, he tripped and cracked his skull on the edge of a chair. Died before his mates could get him to a healer.”

 

“Ah.”

 

Kaella curled up, hugging her knees to her chest. “Cassandra and her Inquisition people are kind enough. Leliana scares the crap out of me, Cullen’s okay for a Templar and Lady Montilyet is probably the nicest shem I’ve ever met. She’s an ambassador though, so I guess that’s her job.”

 

“But . . .” Solas said expectantly.

 

“But, they care about ‘the Herald’,” Kaella finished. She tilted her left hand this way and that, watching the green glow of the anchor ripple in the centre. “They care about _this_. Not about Kaella Lavellan. No one cares about her.”

 

Solas caught her hand as she waved it through the air. The anchor crackled for a moment and then stilled. “Not so, lethallin,” he said in a soft voice, squeezing her hand gently in his own. “I care about her. Very much.”


	15. Chapter 15

The meeting with the Chantry leaders in Val Royeaux was not _exactly_ asbad as Kaella had anticipated. The Clerics had indeed called her a heretic, accused her of mass murder and demanded that she be imprisoned, (presumably with a view to burning her at the stake later), but their accusations and allegations had been rather upstaged by Lord Seeker Lucius’s decision to punch the most vocal Cleric in the face and then announce that the Templar Order was no longer under Chantry authority. Kaella would not claim to be an expert on Chantry workings but she suspected that this would put a crimp in the Clerics’ plans to have her held responsible for the Conclave’s destruction.

 

Now, as the Lord Seeker strode away, followed reluctantly by his Templars, Kaella turned to Cassandra. The expression on the Seeker’s face was one of pure consternation.

 

“I do not understand this,” Cassandra said, keeping her voice low to avoid being overheard by the crowd of onlookers, who had been attracted by the dramatic scene enacted by the leaders of their faith. “This is not the Lord Seeker I know. Something is very wrong.”

 

“No kidding,” Varric interjected dryly. “We’ve done what we came here to do,” he continued in a more concerned tone. “We should get out of here before someone else decides to try and have us locked up. Fighting city guards is not on today’s to-do list.”

 

“Agreed,” Solas said. “We should return to Haven immediately.

 

Kaella nodded her agreement and the little group began to make their way out of the crowded market, dozens of curious eyes watching them go. A few guardsmen did eye them rather speculatively, but one fierce look from the Seeker was enough to make them reconsider.

 

They had almost reached the exit of the city, through the statue-lined street which Kaella had mentally labelled the ‘Avenue of Headaches’ (for while the unknown sculptor may have intended to show the _emotional_ distress of Maferath the Betrayer they had not _quite_ succeeded) when they were approached by a middle-aged elven woman. Her dark hair was pinned back from her face in short braids and she wore thick mage’s robes of deep blue.

 

“Herald,” she said in an Orlesian accent, as she stepped forward to block Kaella’s path. “Please, a moment of your time?”

 

“Grand Enchanter Fiona?” Cassandra exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”

 

“I came to speak to the Herald of Andraste,” the Grand Enchanter replied, her eyes fixed on Kaella. “I have an offer to make.”

 

~~~

“ . . .and that’s about it,” Kaella concluded, finishing a long retelling of the trip to Val Royeaux for Sister Leliana, Lady Montilyet and Commander Cullen. “We need help to close the breach, and considering the mage leadership just offered and the Templars are going around punching old ladies in the face I think it’s pretty clear who we should approach,” she said tiredly. It had been a long journey back from Val Royeaux.

 

“Hold a moment,” Cullen protested, “we can’t discount the Templars just like that.”

 

“No, Lavellan is right,” Leliana disagreed. “We’ve all seen the breach. It’s clear we need the mages and their power to help close it.”

 

Cullen shook his head stubbornly. “Not necessarily. A concentrated squad of Templars could use their abilities to weaken the breach and render it vulnerable to the Herald’s mark. And we wouldn’t have to worry about abominations.”

“Supposition,” Leliana retorted. “And in any case, the Templars flat out refuse to speak with the Inquisition. Acquiring enough influence to counter that will take time we do not have. The mages have offered us a meeting _now._ ”

 

“Whatever decision we make,” Lady Montilyet said, smoothly interrupting the argument, “we must make it soon. The breach could destabilize at any time. So could the Herald’s Mark.”

 

Cassandra grunted in agreement.

 

Kaella’s stomach sank unpleasantly at the ambassador’s calm words and that morning’s pregnancy related nausea returned with a vengeance. That possibility had not occurred to her. Her eyes flicked to Solas. His status as ‘the Lady Herald’s lord husband’ had earned him an honorary place at the Inquisition’s informal war council. He attended most of the meetings with her, but usually remained quietly in the background while she and the Inquisition leaders discussed.

 

Now, he stepped forward, placing himself at her side as he addressed the four humans . “While I hesitate to predict what the Breach may do, I have confidence that the Mark will remain stable for the foreseeable future.”

 

Kaella looked at Solas somewhat doubtfully despite herself. She _wanted_ to believe him. “How can you be so sure?” Commander Cullen demanded, unintentionally voicing her thoughts.

 

Solas gave the commander a short smile. “Magic,” he said simply, wiggling his fingers theatrically.

 

“Alright,” Cullen said ruefully as he saw Sister Leliana’s lips twitch and the ambassador attempt to hold back a smile. “I walked into that one. You are sure, though?”

 

“Positive,” Solas replied, so confidently that Kaella’s stomach, which had been showing all the signs of demanding that she vomit on the war table (again) settled down considerably. “The Mark has shown no signs of the instability which characterized it when the first rift was closed at the Temple of Sacred Ashes. I believe there is little chance of any risk to the Herald now.”

 

“You’re positively positive,” Kaella joked weakly, flexing her marked hand unconsciously.

 

Solas smiled gently at her. “Just so. There is no need to worry, emma lath,” he replied, taking her hand and squeezing it. Kaella flushed hotly despite her best efforts. She was still unused to Solas’ new-found tendency to comfortably call her such things and be even mildly physically affectionate in public. She knew he didn’t actually _mean_ any of it of course, but it was still disconcerting. And not a little embarrassing.

 

Furthermore, Kaella could not bring herself to reciprocate, even to strengthen their very needful deception. For the moment though, her lack of acting skills was not too much of a problem, as gossip overheard in Haven’s tavern had informed her that most people thought the Herald’s ‘shyness’ with her husband was very proper behaviour for a recently married young woman.

 

And so Kaella swallowed uncomfortably and tried not to squirm on the spot as Sister Leliana’s eyes twinkled and Lady Montilyet smiled approvingly. Behind her, she heard what sounded suspiciously like a wistful sigh from Cassandra.

 

Eventually, Solas let go of her hand and turned his attention back to the humans. “The hour has grown late,” he reminded them. “Whatever you mean to decide, you’re not going to do it tonight. And Kaella needs rest,” he finished in a tone which brooked no argument. The tiny inner part of Kaella that was not nearly asleep on her feet marvelled at an elf speaking so to humans in authority so naturally.

 

“Very well,” Cassandra said. “We will resume this discussion in the morning. Sleep well, Herald.”

 

“You too, Seeker,” Kaella replied. She said her good nights to the others and then she and Solas turned to the doors. As she pushed the large oak panel open, she heard Cassandra mutter “emma lath?” in a questioning tone of voice.

 

“Elvhen,” she heard Leliana say quietly to the Seeker. “I believe it means ‘my love’.”

 

“Oh,” the Seeker sighed again. “How _romantic_.”


	16. Chapter 16

In the end, the abundance of rifts made the Mage/Templar decision temporarily moot. Areas nominally under the Inquisition’s control were still too hazardous for any delegation to either group to pass through safely. And so, in the weeks following the confrontation at Val Royeaux, Kaella found herself and her companions ranging back and forth across Ferelden’s hinterlands, closing rifts, establishing watchtowers and doing any other good deeds that might increase the standing of the Inquisition with the local nobles and their people.

 

Inevitably, they gained some new recruits.

 

The first was a grey warden that Leliana had recommended they look for. They found him helping some local farmers against bandits in the hinterlands and as introductions went, fighting together against marauders and thieves wasn’t so bad.

 

Warden Blackwall seemed all right, as humans went. He admitted up front that he’d expected the Herald of Andraste to be human, but accepted Kaella with nothing more than a momentary adjustment and she appreciated his candour. His status as a warden was also comforting. Kaella knew that many people had reason to distrust the Order of the Grey, but their equal opportunities approach to their recruits had always appealed to her. As long as you could kill darkspawn, wardens didn’t care what gender you were, or what shape your ears had. Kaella accepted his allegiance with a certain amount of pleasure.

 

The next addition was somewhat different.

 

A personal message for the Herald of Andraste arrived in Haven, sent by ‘Madame de Fer, First Enchanter of Montsimmard, Enchanter to the Imperial Court’ and Kaella found herself invited to a soiree in the personal mansion of Duke Bastien de Ghislain. Having already been approached by Grand Enchanter Fiona, she was at first inclined to ignore the invitation to what would almost definitely prove to be an unbearably awkward party full of patronising shemlen.

 

Unfortunately for Kaella, this notion was swiftly vetoed by Ambassador Montilyet and Sister Leliana. Both women insisted that she attend and gain the First Enchanter’s support if possible. Which was why, within two weeks, she found herself back in Val Royeaux, and being asked whether or not she wanted someone dead for insulting her.

 

Kaella had swallowed nervously and hoped her disconcertion wasn’t too obvious. This impeccably dressed Circle Mage had offered to kill a man – with magic- in full view of a room packed with Orlesian nobility and no one there had batted an eyelid. Nor had there been any Templars in evidence. It seemed that Lady Montilyet and Sister Leliana had not exaggerated. Madame de Fer did indeed have great influence in the Imperial Court and this little show proved it.

 

“Well, my dear?” the Imperial Enchanter had asked, giving Kaella an smile filled with steel. “What _shall_ we do with such an ill-mannered boor?”

 

The next recruit was . . . interesting, as well.

 

“You’re not _too_ elfy, are you?”

 

Kaella groaned inwardly. Great. One of _those_ city elves. The ones who thought that if no one ever talked of elven culture or took any kind of pride in being an elf at all, then everything would be better. The kind of elves who tried to be as human as possible so that the humans would accept them, some going so far as to spit upon their own people. The ones who never realised that however human they became, the _shemlen_ were never going look past the shape of their ears. And she was a Jenny. Just fantastic. Jennies were trouble.

 

Kaella made a quick decision.

 

She smiled at the girl – Sera?- and said “We would be glad to have you. Welcome to the Inquisition!”

 

She ignored the quiet disgusted noise from behind her and gave the Jenny directions to Haven.

 

“Forgive my language,” she said to Cassandra, once they were back at Haven and she was sure that Sera was nowhere near, “but I’d rather have her inside pissing _out_ than outside pissing _in_. Our resources are stretched as it is. We can’t afford the kind of trouble the Jennies could make for us right now. Better to have them favourably disposed towards us. Even if it means putting up with Sera. Anyway, she seems to be a good shot at least.”

 

Her last recruit was considerate enough to bring his own group of professional mercenaries.

 

The leader of the Bull’s Chargers turned to be a very large Qunari with a dragon-esque set of horns. Kaella tried not to stare at horns, failed, and then just hoped he wouldn’t think she was being rude. They were _very_ big.

 

She had just accepted the services of the Chargers on behalf of the Inquisition when the big man casually mentioned that he was a professional Qunari spy. Fortunately, at this point little surprised her any more. “Sure. Fine,” she said blankly, shrugging. “Talk to Leliana about it I guess.”

 

The Iron Bull grinned. “I’ll do that. Thanks Boss.”


	17. Chapter 17

Any elf born and raised in an alienage had heard their entire lives of the evils of the Tevinter Magisters and the heresies of the Imperial Chantry. The Magisters had caused the blight, the darkspawn, and had burned Andraste at the stake. They were the reason that the Maker had turned his face away from Thedas, not once, but twice. Magisters, the Chantry said, all used blood magic and had demons as servants.

 

Among the Dalish, the opinion of the rulers of Tevinter was no better. Tevinter mages had been the ones to destroy Arlathan, the Elvhen empire. Magisters (as far as the Dalish knew) had been the first to enslave the People and tear their language, their history and their culture away from them.

 

Even now, Tevinter was notorious as the driving force behind the slave trade in Thedas, and it was no great secret that the vast majority of those enslaved by Tevinter were elves.

 

So it was not surprising to Solas, that Kaella, upon being told by the Inquisition scout in Redcliffe that there was a Magister and his retinue in residence in the Arl’s castle _and_ that said Magister was waiting in the town tavern to speak with her personally, went more than a little pale.

 

She let out a small noise that Solas had come to recognise as meaning that she was doing her best not to be sick, smiled weakly at the scout and informed him that she would speak to the magister shortly.

 

Sure enough, as soon as the scout was out of sight Kaella made her way behind a convenient tree to empty her stomach. “Lethallin,” Solas murmured softly to her, as he held her hair back, “are you well?”

 

“There’s a magister here!” she hissed back, between retches. “A bloody magister! And he wants to talk to me!”

 

“An unexpected complication, certainly,” said Solas calmly. “But we are far from defenceless, and more than capable of giving this Magister Alexius a few surprises..”

 

She blinked, looking at him in confusion and he smiled.

 

“The Tevinter Imperium has Templars in name only,” he explained. “If Alexius starts a fight, I suspect Seeker Pentaghast’s abilities will come as a nasty shock.”

 

An evil grin stole over Kaella’s features. “I am so, so tempted . . .” she said quietly. Then she shook her head. “We should try to avoid a fight though.” She straightened up with a groan. Solas waited until she had cleaned her face with a handkerchief and then let go of her hair, a touch regretfully. It was, he thought, exactly the wrong length. Just long enough to be a nuisance, too short to tie back. A shame, really. Just a bit longer and he could easily braid it neatly for her.

 

“Come on,” said Kaella, interrupting his errant thoughts. “Let’s go meet this magister. And if he does start a fight,” she added, “I’m going to vomit in his face.”

 

“An interesting battle tactic, to be sure.”

 

“Smart-ass.”

 

***

 

 

It turned out that Magister Gereon Alexius had in fact, in the best traditions of Tevinter, enslaved the Circle mages. Oh, he could talk of ‘protection’ and ‘temporary indentures’ all he wanted, but anyone with the slightest bit of intelligence could see what lay behind it now.

 

Grand Enchanter Fiona had certainly realised it and seemed to be in shock. Solas wondered how, exactly, she’d been hoodwinked. He knew that Fiona possessed enough political acumen to achieve the most powerful position that was available to a Circle mage, so she must be at least as skilful as First Enchanter Vivienne, who, he shrewdly suspected, had probably been her main rival. So how had Fiona walked herself and her people into such a trap?

 

Something to ponder for later, he thought, springing to his feet to catch the magister’s son, who was about to crash into Kaella. To his surprise he felt the young man slip something into his pocket. Interesting .

 

Solas set the young mage back on his feet, watching with interest as Alexius rapidly changed mood and the self-assured magister vanished, turning into a worried father. The magister nodded to Kaella, gave a quick, apparently sincere apology and then shepherded his son away, ending the tense meeting rather abruptly.

 

Immediately, Kaella turned to the Grand Enchanter. “Allying with a magister?” she demanded. “Are you completely out of your mind? What were you thinking?! Tell me you weren’t already planning this when we spoke in Val Royeaux! ”

 

Fiona stared. “What? Herald, I have not been anywhere near Val Royeaux for months. I do not know who you spoke to, but it assuredly was not me.”

 

Kaella raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Really? ‘It wasn’t me’? That’s the excuse you’re going with?”

 

“Herald,” Fiona snapped through gritted teeth. “I have not been to Val Royeaux for the better part of a year. This I swear. Now if you will excuse me, I must see to my people and inform them of the terms of Lord Alexius’ contract.” The Grand Enchanter stalked away, looking extremely harassed.

 

“Right,” Kaella sighed, as she watched Fiona leave the tavern. “That was interesting and weird. Mostly weird. Now what?”

 

Solas retrieved that scrap of paper that the magister’s son had dropped in his pocket and handed it to Kaella. “Here,” he said, keeping his voice low. “A message from young Felix.”

 

“Dear Inquisition,” Kaella read slowly, “please meet me in the Chantry.” Kaella looked up from the note. “Anyone got any other ideas?”

 

Varric shrugged. Cassandra grunted negatively.

 

There was a moment of silence as they all looked at each other. “All right," Kaella said. "Chantry it is. Let’s hope we can get some answers.”

 

The Redcliffe Chantry turned out to contain one rift, quite a lot of demons, and one friendly and extremely handsome Tevinter mage. As soon as the rift had been dealt with, the young man bestowed a glittering smile upon them.

 

“Dorian of House Pavus, at your service,” he declared impressively, giving a courtly bow to Kaella. “It’s about time you got here!”

 

Somewhat charmed, she smiled hesitantly back and held out a hand to shake. Pavus took her hand and kissed it, as if Kaella were human nobility.

 

Solas glared at him.


End file.
